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NATURAL HISTORY SERIES. 


YELLOW BIRDS. 


BY 


ERNEST INGERSOLL. 


And other stories. . 

\ ?> a 1 

^ j 

& 

FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 



/ 







BOSTON: 

D. LOTHROP & COMPANY, 

FRANKLIN ST., CORNER OF HAWLEY. 

\ •% '1 \ \ * 


1 



QLV) 

iT & 


Copyright, 18S1, 

By D. LoTimor and Company 




YELLOW-BIRDS. 

W E have commonly in our gardens, almost every. 

where in the United States, two “ yellow-birds” 
which are very unlike each other. I propose to tell you 
something about each of them, so that you may 
be able to tell them apart and study them to better 
advantage. The first of which I shall speak is the 
goldfinch, or “ thistle yellow-bird,” a member of the 
great cone-billed family of finches and sparrows, the 
Fringillidce, whose systematic name is C/irysomitris 
tristis. The canary-bird is a cousin of his, and very 
much like him. 

The goldfinches are not migratory, except at the 

5 



6 


Yellow-birds. 


extreme north, but in winter go away to the pastures 
and frozen swamps where there are plenty of seeds of 
the wild weeds waiting to be gathered, and so they 
seem to leave us with the rest of the runaway birds 
in the fall. Besides this, their plumage at that time 
is very dull colored, and thus one would not easily 
recognize them as the same birds which gladdened us 
all summer. But as May melts into June, the sun 
touching the dull gray feathers of the silent bird, 
changes them to a pure, shining yellow, just as in the 
old Roman story everything which that marvelous 
man Midas, looked upon, was turned to gold. Then, 
too, the opening blossoms of the apple and cherry 
trees attract the goldfinches back to the garden, and 
they so enjoy dodging about the young and fragrant 
flowers that their long silence i^ broken and you hear 
their cheery voices from morning till night. “The 
winter of their discontent ” is over, and they are no 
longer triste. Each male is arrayed in a brilliant suit 
of canary-yellow, with jet black cap, wings and tail, 
the wings barred with white ; and the females only 
differ from their lords in wearing a dull greenish color 
in place of the golden yellow. Their bills are yellow 
and transparent at the edges. 

Do not seek them now in the woods and distant 
fields. They are wandering about the orchards and 


Yellow-birds . 


7 


gardens and road-sides in flocks of ten, twenty, or a 
hundred, flying in a series of long undulations, and 
settling with a circular sweep, or swarming quickly to 
some other bush in response to a whistled invitation 
from some gay companion. 

Their food varies with the season. When the red 
maples are in blossom in earliest spring, the gold¬ 
finches pick the tender stamens and pistils, and 
snatch up the insects that infest the flowers. Next 
the apple and cherry blossoms afford a similar repast. 
When the gardener prepares his rich beds of lettuce, 
the goldfinch flies down to get the tiny beetles and 
earth-worms unearthed by his hoe, and spying the 
freshly-sown salad seeds feasts upon them as long as 
they last. Should the gardener escape this danger, 
however, and succeed in bringing his lettuce, onions 
or mustard to maturity, the goldfinches again assail 
the ripened heads, and, if allowed, rob them of every 
one of the seeds upon which he is depending for his 
succeeding crop. This mischievous trait gives them 
the name of salad-birds in the neighborhood of Phila¬ 
delphia. During the summer and autumn they feed 
on the seeds of all the wild weeds and garden plants, 
their bright yellow plumage contrasting very beauti¬ 
fully with some of the large and gayly colored 
flowers — the purple iris, for example,— which they 


8 


Yellow-birds. 


frequently visit. The seeds of the thistle they are 
especially fond of, and you may see them any day in 
September swinging on the springy heads, out of 
which they eagerly tear the seeds until the silk is fly¬ 
ing in gauzy clouds all about them. In eating so 
many of the seeds of these and other road-side plants 
they act as a serious check upon the increase of nox¬ 
ious weeds, and thus are of no little assistance to the 
agriculturist, not to mention the vast quantity of 
larvae of small moths, flies, beetles, ants, etc. which 
they destroy during the summer. 

No one of our birds has a sweeter voice than the 
goldfinch, and its plaintive che-we , che weak as it bal- 
ences on an aster-head, or rises and falls in its bil¬ 
lowy flight, is one of the most delicious of rural 
sounds. But in spring the male has a love-song 
excelled by few other birds. It is “ sweet, brilliant 
and pleasing .... now ringing like the loud voice 
of the canary, now sinking into a soft warble.” In¬ 
deed the goldfinch is a near relation of the canary, 
and attempts to pair them have met with varying suc¬ 
cess. It lives w r ell in confinement, learning to sing 
with great compass and beauty. A gentleman near 
Philadelphia possessed one that he reared from the 
nest, which was trained to vary and modulate its song 
in time with the movements of its owner’s finger, 


Yellow-birds. 


9 


increasing and decreasing the volume by the lifting 
and dropping of the finger, and accelerating and 
retarding the time by the sidewise movement of the 
same. 

The goldfinch seems to be persistently gregarious, 
for even in the breeding season several families are 
usually found in the same neighborhood, ancl the 
males often assemble together and pass the time in 
collecting food, singing in concert, bathing and trim¬ 
ming their feathers. They are veritable dandies, 
loving to bask in the sun, and waving their bodies 
about as though trying to show their golden feathers 
in the best light. 

This is almost the last of all our birds to build its 
nest, rarely beginning about Philadelphia before the 
first week in June, on Lake Erie not until a fortnight 
later, and at Boston hardly before the first of July. 
Yet long before this time mates have been chosen 
after much energetic courtship and coy flirtation. 
Their love-making is done in the most charming lan¬ 
guage, and the honeymoon is of longer duration than 
in the case of most other birds. 

Finally they settle down to work, and build an 
exquisite villa, placing it in a bush or garden shrub, a 
maple or an orchard tree, sometimes among the top¬ 
most sprays, sometimes on a low level branch with 


IO 


Yellow-birds. 


diverging twigs. The nest is a firm basket, neatly 
woven and skillfully fastened to the twigs between 
which it rests. Often it is much higher than broad, 
although only a small cavity in the top is needed to 
hold the five or six bluish-white, unspotted eggs. Dr. 
Brewer has described this delicate structure so com¬ 
pletely that I might as well quote him as to seem to 
do so by making a new picture myself : 

“The base of this nest is a commingling of soft 
vegetable wool, very fine stems [and flowering heads] 
of dried grasses, and fine strips of bark, all being in 
very fine shreds. The sides, rim and general exterior 
of the nest is made up, to a large extent, of fine 
slender, vegetable fibres, interwrought with white and 
maroon-colored vegetable wool. These materials are 
closely and densely felted together. The inner nest 
is softly and thoroughly lined with a softer felting 
made of the plumose appendages or pappus of the 
seeds of composite plants/’ 

So fond of the thistle is the goldfinch that she 
adorns the walls of her house with its glistening silk, 
and makes her luxurious bed of the elastic gossamer 
that floats through the summer air. 

With the coming of the dreary days of November 
the goldfinches exchange their gay suits for a sober 
dress of drab, and resort to the fields, roadsides and 


Yellow-birds . 


ii 


country lanes, finding an abundance of food in the 
dry .and rustling weeds and tall grasses, keeping 
together in busy little companies, and braving the 
snow with the same happy voices that sang che-wtah 
in June. 

Almost the only other bird-home near the house 
likely to be mistaken for the goldfinch is that of the 
other “ yellow-bird ” — the summer warbler. It 
belongs to the Dendrcecce or group of wood-warblers. 
Instead of the canary-like form of body, cone-shaped 
beak and short square tail of the goldfinch, it has an 
attenuated beak, a slender form, elongated tail and 
long thin legs. It is a warbler and an insect-eater, 
while the other is a finch and a seed-eater. Both are 
yellow, but the finch has a black cap, black wings 
and tail, while the warbler is pure yellow everywhere 
except that the back is dusky, there is some brown 
on the edges of the feathers of the tail, and the 
breast and sides are streaked with brownish-red. Its 
name in the books is Dendrceca cestiva. 

It is abundant throughout the whole of North 
America, and its nest is to be found in every garden, 
during the latter half of May. Usually a hedge or 
bush is chosen, but sometimes large trees. The 
maples shading the village streets are favorite resorts, 
and if you examine a row of these trees when the 


12 


Yellow-birds. 


leaves have fallen you will be surprised to see how 
many nests have been built over your head during 
summer, the dense foliage secreting the little archi¬ 
tects from your watchful eyes. The situation is 
always in an upright fork of twigs to which the nest 
is bound with great firmness. The frame work is a 
cup tightly woven of fibres of wild hempen plants, 
strips of pliant bark — the inner bark of the grape¬ 
vine and elm are favorites with all warblers, — and 
slender stems of tough weeds, lined with fine grasses. 
But the bird is rarely content with this alone. If 
cotton is to be found about the yard, it is quickly 
seized; tufts of wool caught from the sheep by the 
slivers in the fence or the brambles are borne away 
by the builder for the adornment of its home, and 
the whole pasture is searched for the wooly furze 
from stems of ferns, mullein-stalks, milk-weeds, cat¬ 
tail flags and cotton-wood seeds. Such downy sub¬ 
stances the mother-bird mats down for a bed inside, 
patches on without, and folds over the rim, sewing 
them firmly to the frame-work with horsehairs and 
strings and hempen threads, until the whole nest is 
hidden in a fluffy and beautiful fleece, pure white, or 
orange-yellow, or clouded yellow and maroon. I 
remember finding a nest in Southern Michigan 
formed so exclusively of orange-colored vegetable 


Goldfinches in Winter. 


















































































































































































































Yellow-birds. 


wool that if I had taken it out of the twigs with 
which it was interlaced the yielding mass would no 
more have retained its place than a pinch of 
cotton. 

The eggs of the summer warbler are faded light- 
green, irregularly dotted and blotched with different 
tints of reddish-brown and lilac. When the young 
are born, after the mother has brooded eleven days, 
both parents are devoted to them and anxious as to 
their safety. They are fed with insects of various 
kinds. 

The song of this pretty warbler is sweet and pleas¬ 
ant, though not loud or prolonged. Mr. Gentry hits 
it very closely when he describes its language as ex¬ 
pressed by the syllables whit-ti-tee tee tee-tee, uttered 
forcibly and with gradually rising cadence. During 
an early morning walk through the village in June, 
one’s ear is sure to be greeted with this pretty strain, 
and you will soon be able to recognize it in the larger 
concert of birds always to be heard in the orchards 
and sunny groves. 

It said to do well in the cage, and to be susceptible 
of considerable teaching. 



THE YELLOW-BIRDS’ 
COUSINS. 


C ANARY birds, the dainty aristocratic cousins of 
our pretty wild garden warblers, are natives of 
the Canary Islands, north west of Africa, from 
which they take their name, and where they are 
still found. 

The wild canaries have a plumage of dusky gray, 
and build their nests in trees, or high thick shrubs, 
using roots, feathers, moss and hair for material. 

According to an old story, at the beginning of 
the sixteenth century a ship bound for Leghorn, 
carrying with other merchandise some of these 
16 



The Yellow-birds' Cousins. 17 

% 

birds, was wrecked off the coast of Italy. The 
little songsters flew to the nearest land, which 
chanced to be Elba, and so that famous island 
was the first spot in Europe where they lived and 
sung; but they were so relentlessly pursued by bird- 
hunters that now not one of them remains on the 
island. 

Since the date mentioned they have been carried 
all about the civilized world. Germany has become 
the special place for raising them and supplying 
other countries. The Tyrolese are also largely en¬ 
gaged in the same industry. 

When these warblers were new to Europeans, they 
were too expensive to be bought by any but the rich ; 
and they were called “ sugar birds,” because of their 
liking for sugar. 

At the picturesque little town of Imst, in Southern 
Germany, canaries were once bred in great numbers, 
and men carried them on their backs to England, 
Russia, all parts of Europe, even to Turkey and 
Egypt. After six or eight months, these agents would 
return, bringing large sums of money to their em¬ 
ployers. This industry has fallen off; but, in 
Germany, the tourist still sees extensive breeding 
establishments, where the many rooms are arranged 
like the chambers of a hotel — each one well lighted 


18 The Yellow-birds' Cousins. 

and ventilated, its floor covered with sand to the 
depth of three or four inches, little trees set up, 
drinking water, bathing water, and feeding-boxes in 
convenient places, while round the walls are ranged 
the nests. About twenty male birds, and three times 
as many females, will be found occupying one of 
these commodious apartments. 

German canaries are still held to be the finest 
singers; but this is owing to their training, as they 
are taken from their nests at an early age and placed 
where they may hear the singing of larks and night¬ 
ingales, their power of imitation almost equalling 
that of parrots. Several have even been taught to 
talk plainly. 

Canary birds often live to be twelve or fifteen years 
old. Not long since there was a canary bird at the 
South End of Boston known to be sixteen years old. 
After singing thirteen years he kept silent two years 
then began again, and at last account was continuing 
his melodies like a young bird. 

Three years ago one of our newspapers contained 
the announcement: 

“Died, at his home in Andrews Street, September i, 
Quart us, a canary, in the eighteenth year of his age.” 

This Methuselah-bird was remarkable for its song 
and intelligence; and its owner prized it so highly 


The Yellow-birds 3 Cousins. 


l 9 


that he wrote an account of its life. In the course of 
the biography the writer says: 

“ He sung magnificently day and night. People 
passing along the street after the gas was lighted 
would stop to listen to him ; he was a very nightin¬ 
gale. I was accustomed to hang his cage in the fold¬ 
ing doorway between the two parlors. In the back 
parlor there was a stand of flowers by the windows, 
and as I opened the cage-door every morning the 
bird invariably flew out, and alighting among the 
flowers recreated to his heart’s content. I had so 
trained him that when I thought he had been out 
long enough I would order him home, and he would 
return at once to his cage. 

“ I remember well one day when a lady friend was 
calling upon me, the cage door not being shut, Quar- 
tus seeing the goodly flowers on my friend’s bonnet, 
winged his way unperceived to her head, and sud¬ 
denly startled her by that peculiar flutter and whirr 
that indicates the approach of a bird on the wing. 
‘ Oh ! ’ she exclaimed, 1 what ever is that ? ’ 

“ ‘ It is only Quartus, mistaking your bonnet for a 
flower-pot , 3 I quietly replied, and thereupon I com¬ 
manded him back to his cage. He obeyed, and the 
lady regained her composure. I suppose she thought 
it a little worse than having ‘ a bee in her bonnet 


20 


The Yellow-biffs' Cousins. 


I could have hugged Quartus, — the dear, cunning 
little fellow! ” 

In 1865 the owner of Quartus went to Europe, 
leaving the bird in the care of a faithful woman, tak- 



A “Sugar Bird.” 


ing a few feathers with him as a keepsake. On his 
return, after seven month’s absence, the bird recog¬ 
nized him with joyous excitement. Quartus was 












































The Yellow-birds' Cousins. 


21 


blind the last year of his long life, and died finally of 
old age. 

A remarkable canary bird was in Chicago a few 
years ago, and perhaps is there still. He was twelve 
years old, but despite his age a most charming and 
lively singer. He had been blind two years, but sang 
not one whit less merrily, and would climb about his 
cage, putting out his foot to feel his way just as a 
blind man does his cane. His owner was very proud 
of him, and every one who saw him marvelled at the 
blithe-spirited little musician. 

There are now about fifty varieties of cage-cana¬ 
ries. Among the most remarkable in form is the 
“ Belgian,” with its long slender body and neck, and 
its high square shoulders. A variety known as the 
Lancashire has a bunch of crest-feathers hanging 
down over the eyes. They are of all colors — yellow, 
green, white, brown, gray, etc. They differ in dispo¬ 
sition and intelligence as well as in musical power: 
some are active ; some, selfish; some, affectionate ; 
some, unobservant; some will not sing in solitude, 
others will not sing in company, and some will not 
sing because they dislike the paper on the walls of 
the room where their cage is hung. Some will do 
their best only in the presence of a rival, and some 


22 


The Yellow-birds ’ Cousins, 


will seem ashamed when they hear themselves 
surpassed. 

A foreign gentleman kept a canary eight years in 

alternate solitude and society. When alone, he was 

lively, affectionate, contented, and willing that his 

owner should handle him for any length of time. 

But in the company of other birds he was frightened 

out of his wits, and made himself hated by the 

female birds, while he was bullied by all of his own 

sex. This same hermit-bird had a son that was of 

the opposite temperament. He was very fond of 
* 

bird-kind, full of droll antics, and, when not singing 
gleefully, would be almost always feeding, or being 
fed by his neighbors. 

Canaries can be taught many little tricks, such as 
to draw up a bucket containing their seed, to carry a 
tiny gun, fire it off, fall down and lay as though dead, 
etc. In some rare cases they learn to articulate 
words. A friend of my own in California last winter 
taught a young canary in a very short time to ring a 
bell when he wanted her; and if she did not obey 
the signal he would impatiently pull and shake it.. 
Sometimes he would ring the bell by taking the han¬ 
dle in his bill, and at other times he would lift the 
tongue and drop it against the side. 

In London, bird fanciers do a thriving business by 


The Yellow-birds ’ Cousins. 


2 3 


painting sparrows and selling them for canary birds. 
Artificial canary birds have been made that could 
sing an air in two parts. When Patti, the celebrated 
vocalist, was in Russia a year or two ago, she was 
presented with a canary bird cf life size, made of 
solid gold, with a pearl bill and diamond eyes. 

The Hon. Amelia Murray, whose mother was a 
Lady-in-waiting upon George the Third’s daughters, 
says, in her Recollections “ Once Queen Charlotte 
came over to Burnham with the eldest Princesses, 
Augusta and Elizabeth. While she was there, she 
allowed two little canary birds, pets of mine, to be 
let out of their cage, and they instantly flew and 
nestled in her Majesty’s lap. The Queen was a little 
startled ; but my mother happily exclaimed, ‘ What a 
good augury ! The flight of birds is always lucky ! ’ ” 

In St. James Park, London, there is an avenue 
where Charles the Second kept his feathered favorites 
and it is still known as “ Bird-Cage Walk.” 

It was related a few years ago of Cardinal Anto- 
nelli, one of the great men of Italy, that he was so 
fond of canary birds that he had over two hundred 
of them, and spent hours every day in his aviary. 



THE SWAN. 

F ROM ancient times the swan has been a favor 
ite bird. It has figured in poetry and song and 
story, and it was celebrated in the old Greek my¬ 
thology which contains many allusions to it. Here 
it was dedicated to Apollo, because, according to 
Banier, it was supposed to have by instinct a faculty 
of prediction; but it is possible that the swan was 
consecrated to the Deity of Music, from its fabled 
melody at the moment of death. 

But we must not suppose that the Singing Swan is 
the graceful bird which ornaments the waters of our 
pleasure-grounds. The Singing Swan is a native of 
the far, far North, where it is called the “ Whistling 
Swan.” Its notes are melodious, and as whole flocks 
24 


The Swan. 


2 5 


of them sing while in flight, their high, wild, viol-like 
music is often heard at great distances. It visits 
England and the Scottish Islands during the cold win¬ 
ter months, where it is shot and marketed as game. 

These Song Swans are also called “ Hoopers ” from 
the resemblance of their note to the cry of “ Hoop ! 
hoop ! ” 

They are also called in the Orkney Isles the “ Coun¬ 
try-man’s Almanac,” for their departure is said to pre¬ 
sage good weather, and their arrival the reverse; 
while in far Iceland their return heralds summer. 

Whatever association the Icelanders may have 
combined with the notes of the Hooper, Hearne 
rejoices not at those of the Trumpeter, so called from 
its tones resembling those of a trumpet. “ I have 
heard them,” says he, “in serene evenings after sunset, 
make a noise not very unlike that of a French horn, 
but entirely divested of every note that constitutes 
melody, and often have been sorry that it did not 
presage their death.” 

The swans’ down which the Hudson’s Bay Company 
formerly supplied in such quantities was mostly pro¬ 
cured from the Trumpeter. 

It seems that in ancient times swans were found in 
nearly all the known world. They were from time to 
time seen on the waters of Africa; Strabo speaks of 


2 6 


The Swan. 


those in Spain ; and Paphos, the favorite isle of Venus, 
was said to be full of them ; while the ponds and la¬ 
goons of Australia still abound with the Black Swan, 
which is very hardy and which has been successfully 
naturalized both in England and Germany, and may 
now be seen on ornamental waters in those countries, 
though still very rare. 

One fine specimen of this species is domesticated 
on the pond in the Boston Public Gardens, where it 
is very fond of sailing side by side with the swan¬ 
necked barges and picking up the various goodies 
thrown at it by the boat-loads of merry little passen¬ 
gers. 

The Swan is an old and valued inhabitant of Eng- 
land. 

In Edward IV.’s time there were many old laws 
concerning swans, and none were permitted to keep 
them who did not possess a freehold of at least five 
marks, yearly value, except the king’s son ; and by an 
act of Henry VII. persons convicted of taking their 
eggs were liable to a year’s imprisonment, and a fine 
at the will of the sovereign. “ More anciently, if a 
swan was stolen in an open and common river, the 
same swan, or another, according to old usage, was to 
be hanged in a house, by the beak, and he who stole 
it was compelled to give the owner as much corn as 





































































The Swan. 


2 9 


would cover the swan, by pouring and turning the 
corn upon the head of the swan, until the head of 
the swan was covered with corn.” 

It may seem strange that the laws were so stringent 
in regard to stealing a swan or even an egg, for 
though, it is a very beautiful bird, and has the old 
prestige in its favor, yet that would hardly account 
for its being hedged round with such restrictions. 

The fact is that it was not only considered fair to 
look upon, but good for food, and from an early 
period has been highly esteemed at feasts. 

The following was found among the receipts of the 
master cooks of Richard II. 

“ Chandeon for swans. 

“ Take the liver and the offal (that is the giblets of 
the swans), put it to seethe in good broth. Take it 
up. Take out the bones and have the flesh small. 
Make a mixture of crust of bread and of the blood 
of the swans, sodden. Add thereto powder of cloves 
and pepper, wine and salt, and seethe it. Cast the 
flesh thereto ‘ hewed 5 and 1 mess it forth ’ with the 
swans.” - 

The city of Norwich had a preserve for swans, 
which were only eaten at the municipal feasts or send 
as presents to distinguished individuals. 


3<> 


The Swan . 


At Abbotsbury in Dorsetshire there was also a 
noble swanery belonging to the Earl of Ilchester, 
where six or seven hundred of these birds were kept. 
The swanery was anciently the property of an abbott, 
and before the monasteries were dissolved there 
were sometimes double this number. 

More recently the Thames was filled with swans. 
Most of them were owned by Queen Victoria, but a 
great number belonged to the Vintners and Dyer’s 
Companies of the city of London. 

Deputations from these Companies made an annual 
visit to their preserves, called Swan-hoffing. This 
term was a corruption of swan-upping, the latter 
word referring to the act of taking up the swans to 
mark them. A Frenchman, whose book of Natural 
History was translated by an American, and published 
by one of the first houses in this country, speaks of 
swan-hoffing or capering, evidently giving the word 
its most literal meaning. 

The swans were marked in the presence of the 
royal swan-herd with the distinguishing mark of the 
Society to which the parent bird belonged. The 
swan-mark was cut upon the upper mandible and 
consisted of certain figures denoting the owner¬ 
ship. 

Queen Victoria’s mark, and it was that of the three 


The Swan. 


3i 


last kings, was composed of five open rather long 
ovals, pointed at each extremity. Two of these were 
placed with the ends in a longitudinal direction on 
each side of the “ berry ” and a little below it; the 
other three crossed the bill transversely a little lower 
down. 

In the olden time, those whose business it was to 
mark the swans went up the river annually in August 
in barges gaily decorated. 

They used to land at Barn Elms, and partake of a 
cold collation on the grass, where they danced away 
many an hour. 

This was a gala day, and the ambition of the sim¬ 
ple villagers reached its height when they were admit¬ 
ted to the society of the fine folks of London on 
these festive occasions. 

Swans have often been known to attack other ani¬ 
mals and even man. 

Those in the gardens of the Luxembourg at Paris 
have taken a dislike to all their keepers, and whenever 
one approaches they all come out of the water on 
purpose to attack him. 

An old writer tells us that in July, 1731, an odd 
accident happened in Bushy Park, to one of the 
keepers in the king’s stables. He was riding his 
majesty’s own hunting-horse which was so frightened 


3 2 


The Swan. 

by a swan flying at him out of the canal that he ran 
away and dashed his brains out against the iron gates ; 
the rider was thrown on the iron spikes, which only 
entering his clothing did him no hurt. Some time 
before, the same swan is said to have flown at His 
Highness the Duke, but caused no disaster. 

Within the last year one of the old swans which 
ornament the waters in one of the Boston cemeteries 
attacked an aged lady who was passing along the path 
and flapped her with his wings until she was thrown 
to the ground, and one of her eyes nearly de¬ 
stroyed. 

The strength of the swan is shown in the following 
anecdote. A female, while in the act of setting, ob¬ 
served a fox swimming towards her from the opposite 
shore. She instantly darted into the water and, hav 
ing kept him at bay a considerable time with her 
wings, at last succeeded in drowning him. She then 
returned in triumph to her nest among the reeds. 

A Mr. Blackwell, who noticed a large number of 
swans alight on an extensive reservoir, relates the 
following story to show that this bird has warm feel 
ings and is capable of the strongest attachment. The 
reservoir belonged to some calico printers near Mid 
dleton, and Mr. Blackwell’s attention was attracted to 
the birds by hearing their loud cries. 


The Swan. 


33 


He perceived that one of their number had been 
shot at and was so severely wounded in its wing that 
it was disabled. 

This one was left behind by the rest with the ex¬ 
ception of a single companion which hovered around 
for hours, uttering its mournful cry. The workmen, 
however, continued to make such a disturbance in 
endeavoring to secure the wounded one that the 
other finally took its flight and was not seen again for 
two or three months when it returned to its captive 
mate. It soon became accustomed to the presence 
of strangers but did not remain very long on account 
of some strange dogs which found their way to the 
reservoir. It never returned ; but about six months 
after the wounded bird, having recovered, left the 
scene of its woes, and, as the narrator of the story 
adds, “ doubtless she found her lover in regions where 
calico printing and strange dogs are unknown.” 

The power of prediction has been mysteriously ac¬ 
corded to this water-bird ; and swans probably do 
have an instinct in regard to weather-changes in com¬ 
mon with ma^ny other birds. This has been noticed 
by observers of the River Thames swans. 

At times the violent rains will cause the river to 
swell, and the water begins to rise. When this hap¬ 
pens at the season for hatching, the birds have been 


34 


The Swan. 


seen busily employed in raising their nests, in order 
to save their eggs from being washed away by the 
flood. 

For eighteen years a swan has built her nest by 
the side of the Thames in the same spot. One 
spring she was sitting on her eggs as usual, when it 
was observed that she was getting together a quantity 
of grass and weeds, and trying to raise her nest. 

As soon as this was noticed, a laborer was sent 
with a load of straw and rubbish and told to throw it 
down beside her. 

The bird seemed to understand what it was for, 
and with the materials thus provided she began at 
once to raise her nest some two or three feet higher. 
There came a heavy fall of rain that very night, which 
flooded the meadows and did a great deal of damage 
in the neighborhood of the river; but the swan and 
her nest were safe. Instinct had led her to take pre¬ 
cautions that man, for want of foresight, had neg¬ 
lected. * 

Much of his property was destroyed, but the 
eggs of the swan escaped ; for the prudent mother 
had raised them just high enough to be above the 
flood. 

The swan has great powers of locomotion. It 
glides like a vessel under full sail over the water 


The Swan. 


35 


much faster than a man can walk, and in a brisk gale 
it sometimes flies at not less than a hundred miles an 
hour. 


“ The swan with arched neck proudly rowes, 

Between her white wings mantling 
Her state, with oary feet; yet oft she quits 
The dank, and rising on stiff pinions, tours 
The mid-aerial sky.” 

Many of these birds are long lived, some even 
reaching the great age of two hundred years. 

The ancients say, according to Buffon, that the swan 
in dying emits sounds exceedingly beautiful, making 
a prelude of harmonious notes to its last sigh, its 
final accents being so sweet and touching that they 
compared its notes to the plaintive murmur of a low 
voice chanting its own funeral dirge. But the death- 
song of the swan is evidently a fiction, though poetry 
is filled with it, and Shakespeare mentions it in 
several of his plays. 




THE WASP 

AND THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE. 

- <♦> . 

P OOR little Sally May was in distress. 

She had been told by her mother to learn the 
Eighth Line of the Multiplication Table and she 
couldn’t do it. She was in the library alone, but the 
birds were singing outside and the bees buzzing, 
while there she was in that high chair with an old, 
yellow copy book on her lap covered with ugly black 
figures. 

Life just then was a muddle to Sally. She could 
grasp the idea of “ fixed fate ” in the shape of pun¬ 
ishment from mamma if she didn’t learn her lesson; 

36 



The WasJ) And The Multiplicatio?i Table. 37 

but as to “free will,” that she knew would take her 
out of doors, and then what would become of the 
Eighth Line ? 

Sally had been told that the Egyptians were the 
authors of our alphabet (though the Greeks named 
it), and for a great while Sally hated the Egyptians ; 
but Grimm’s stories, which she could now read her¬ 
self, reconciled her to these ancients. Last evening, 
her father told her some scholars said that the Phoe¬ 
nicians invented numbers, and now how she did hate 
the Phoenicians! She had heard that King Hiram 
was a Phoenician, and she wondered what made Solo¬ 
mon employ such horrid people to help him build the 
Temple in Jerusalem ! 

At the back of her brother John’s Arithmetic she 
found that Cain, in addition to his other sins, was ac¬ 
cused of getting up weights and measures; and she 
felt sure that the Phoenicians must have been his de¬ 
scendants. If Abel had only killed Cain ! But then 
Abel wouldn’t have been good if he had. All this 
was even more perplexing than the Multiplication 
Table. She got off the high seat and placed herself 
on a cricket, putting the yellow book into papa’s big 
chair ; then she rested her little face upon its elbow. 

She was going over and over again, “ eight times 
nine are ” — when the curls dropped over the eyelids 
and Sally was fast asleep. 


3S The Wasp And The Multiplication Table. 


Soon after her mother was startled by a shrill 
scream, and running in she found Sally half awake 
and a wasp flying off from her little fat arm. 

Nestled in the big chair on Mrs. May’s lap, her 
rosy, tearful face turned away from the ammonia 
which her mother was putting on the wound, she said 
she “ wanted a story.” 

“ Well, shall it be about the wasps ? ’’ her mother 
asked. “ They love their little waspies just as I do 
my little girl — better than any other insect loves its 
children.” 

Sally hesitated. She looked at her arm. 

“ I don’t think wasps can be nice. But if they 
are, why, of course, I want to know. What do wasps 
do besides sting ? ” 

“ They make paper and they build houses.” 

“ Make paper! How can wasps make paper ? ” 

“ My little Sally, if the ancients had watched 
wasps as closely as Reaumur did for twenty years 
they would have discovered, as he did, what the 
wasp comb was made of, and we should have had pa¬ 
per centuries before we did. 

“ One day a mother-wasp lighted on Reaumur’s win- 
dow-sash and begun boring into it. He saw her get 
a bundle of the wood-fibres, which she didn’t swallow 
but bruised with her jaws into a sort of lint (wasps 
have no teeth, but their mouths are armed with 


The Wasp And The Multiplication Table. 39 


strong muscular jaws called mandibles ). Then she 
rolled this mass into balls with her feet, when she 
moved to another part of the window-frame carrying 
with her the bundle to which she continued to add. 
Reaumur caught her and found that the wooden fi¬ 
bres were as fine as a hair and about the tenth of an 
inch long; of the same color and texture as the walls 
of the vespiary, which is the name of a wasp’s city.” 

“ And do they make their houses of paper? ” 

“ All the social wasps do. I’m going to tell you 
first about the kind which live in barracks under¬ 
ground. By and by I’ll come to those which make 
hanging nests on trees, in barns or porticoes, and to 
the solitary mud wasp. 

“In the spring the lady-wasp, who has been asleep 
all winter, wakes up and goes flying about in the 
most energetic manner, looking for a place to build. 
Sometimes she finds the hole of a ground-mouse 
which saves her a great deal of labor, although she 
has to enlarge it below and contract its entrance 
above. If she doesn’t get a place to suit her, she 
digs a hole from one to two feet in diameter, carrying 
away the dirt herself. A mother-wasp merits more 
praise for industry than the queen bee who never 
stirs without a big train of subjects, always ready to 
do her bidding and pay her homage. 


4 ° The Wasp And The Multiplication Table. 

“ Before a wasp begins to build she ejects from her 
mouth, upon the wooden particles she has collected, 
a glutinous liquid which sticks them together, and 
then she kneads them into a paste, rolling it out with 
her mandibles, her feet, and her tongue, into a sheet 
as thin as tissue paper, walking backwards all the 
time to keep her eye on her work. 

“ With this sheet she begins her roof, for wasps 
build downwards. One sheet wouldn’t be strong 
enough to keep the earth from falling in upon her ; 
so she spreads fifteen or sixteen layers, one above 
the other, till the roof is nearly two inches thick. 

“ Then she lays the terrace or floor, which she con¬ 
nects with the roof by twenty or thirty strong paper 
rods. On this floor she constructs, with the utmost 
delicacy and accuracy, six sided-cehs, and in each 
she lays an egg. 

“ The cells open towards the bottom of the nest, 
ready for the grubs which lie with their heads down¬ 
wards. As soon as a cell is vacant it is cleaned out 
ready for another egg. When the foundress thinks 
that she has made rooms enough she stops building 
to look up food for the grubs, which will hatch out in 
eight days. They have no feet and are quite help¬ 
less, so she feeds them with choice bits prepared in 
her own stomach.” 



HORNET-WaSP builds a round or pear-shaped nest, 


THE COLOR RESEMBLING FADED LEAVES, 







































The TVasp And The Multiplication Table. 43 

“ And don’t the papa-wasp do anything ? ” 

“ For some reason they are never builders, soldiers, 
providers or nurses: but it seems that the wasp-mad- 
ames do make scavengers and undertakers of them. 

“These nests contain thousands of wasps but they 
all die when cold weather comes except a few hardy 
females, who drop their cares and take a long nap 
until warm weather comes again.” 

“ But, mamma, how are the little ones fed, ’way 
down in the ground ? ” 

“ O, their mammas steal from us and from the 
bees (one wasp is a match for three bees) and they 
carry nearly all their booty to their young, or to the 
sick at home. Every bit of sugar or fruit juice which 
they swallow they have a way of getting back again 
to put into their hungry childrens’ mouths. Every 
fly also that they catch goes to the nest below.” 

“ When Bridget says I’m waspish again, I’ll tell her 
wasps do some good things.” 

“ Yes, they love their families dearly, and never 
sting their best friends, as human folks often do; 
and if their nest is broken up the old wasp will not 
leave it, but stay by to the last to take care of the 
little ones. They are good carpenters too, and re¬ 
pair their houses neatly when they are damaged. 
They carry a double pickaxe, forceps, chisel, knife, 


44 Th e Wasp And The Multiplicatio?i Table. 

file, scissors, augur, pincers and saw, wherever they 
go, in their mandibles — a tool-box of their own. 
Wasps are courageous too, and very persistent. 

“ Dr. Darwin says that he once saw a wasp on his 
gravel walk with a fly nearly as large as itself. He 
watched closely and saw her cut off the head of her 
prey and part of its body to lessen its weight and then 
she started with it; but the wind blew the wings of 
the fly around her own, impeding her flight. So she 
stopped, put the fly down, sawed off first one wing 
and then the other, and this time she flew away 
with her prize. Wasps know that fresh meat spoils 
quickly; and how do you think they keep it, as they 
haven’t ice-houses ? ” 

“ How, mamma ? ” 

“ When they catch a caterpillar they dare not take . 
him alive to their babies for fear he might hurt them; 
and yet it wouldn’t be safe to kill him very long be¬ 
fore they need him : so Mrs. Wasp gives him a slight 
sting which coils him up and he stays thus till he is 
wanted for dinner.” 

“ Mamma,” said Sally, thoughtfully, “ how lone¬ 
some the poor lady wasp must be when she wakes 
up in the spring, in her big house all alone, and all 
the other wasps dead.” 

Mrs. May smiled. “ Perhaps: but as a wasp never 
uses the same house the second season, and has so 


The Wasp And The Multiplication Table . 45 

much to do to get ready for her new family, 
she probably soon forgets all about her old home.” 

“ Tell me about hanging nests, mamma.” 

“ There is a kind of social wasp which constructs 
very ingenous hanging nests on shrubs. She forms 
terraces of cells which have no outer walls but are 
quite exposed to the weather. The cells are not hori¬ 
zontal but nearly vertical so that the rain can run 
off. The nest is covered with a coat of varnish 
which the wasp puts on with its tongue to prevent 
moisture soaking into it. 

“Then the well-known hornet-wasp builds a round 
or pear-shaped nest in the holes of decayed trees, or 
on the branches and often upon old posts and pal¬ 
ings. The workmanship is coarser than that upon 
underground nests, the color resembling faded leaves. 
When the grubs are full grown, the hornet lines the 
cell with silk, covering also its upper opening. The 
grubs lie three weeks, and then they come out as 
wasps, ready to help mamma build more cells, for the 
first brood which all social-wasps hatch out are neu¬ 
ters or workers. Some of these pear-shaped nests are 
sixteen inches long and in the largest part eight or 
ten inches in diameter, and when the combs are taken 
out will make a hat large enough for a big boy’s 
head. A colony of these insects, which are often 
called white-tailed hornets, will make a good fight 


4 6 The Wasp And The Multiplication Table. 

against a whole district school of vicious Yankee boys 
who delight in throwing stones at them. A hornet 
will start from its nest as soon as a stone strikes it, 
single out a particular boy, and go for him with the 
swiftness of an arrow, pursuing him sometimes eight 
or ten rods, and when it comes within an inch of his 
head instantly change ends with itself and sting him. 
The poison is very quick in its operation and powerful. 
If three or four hornets sting one boy at the same 
time, he will have as much as he can do to get home. 
Men and horses have actually been killed by these 
insects. Hornets prey on other insects and eat flesh. 
“Yellow-jackets” are very fierce — often seen on 
trees infested with plant lice. 

“The nests of some South American species are so 
tight, strong and light, that the natives use them as 
baskets after the cells are removed. 

“ The Card-Maker wasps of Guiana hang an elegant 
funnel-shaped nest on the highest twig of a tree, out 
of the monkeys’ reach, who try to get the honey 
stored in it. Travellers tell us that the thick paste¬ 
board with which this wasp covers her house is so 
hard and so highly polished raindrops cannot rest on 
its surface, and the texture is so uniform and white 
that our most skilful card manufacturer might be 
proud of the work. The insect enters by a small 
hole in the bottom of the nest. 


The Wasp And The Multiplication Table 47 

“ Mud wasps are sand burrowers. They belong to 
the solitary species and do not live in communities. 
The females dig out cells in sandy ground, not with 
their mandibles, as other wasps do, but with theii 
feet. Their legs are furnished with strong brushes 
which they use to push the earth aside with. Mud 
wasps are of a dark-blue-purple color. Jaeger says, 
“ When digging its hole it resembles a dog digging 
after mice, throwing the earth under it towards its 
hind body with its fore feet. If the pile of sand be¬ 
comes too high, or troublesome, it places itself upon 
it, and throws the earth behind it with great force 
until it is leveled. It is curious to see one of these 
wasps take hold of a cockroach, seizing it by one of 
its long antennae and continually walking backward, 
compelling the cockroach to follow, notwithstanding 
its great reluctance and constant opposition, until 
both have arrived at the hole, when the wasp kills it 
by a sting in the neck, then tears it into pieces and 
carries it into her dwelling as food.” 

“ How funny ! I most forgot about the sting, and 
all about something else too, mamma.” 

“ What is it, Sally ? ” 

“ The Eighth Line.” 

“ Well, to-morrow we’ll go at it in earnest, and 
work as hard as the wasps do, and maybe we’ll learn 
to multiply numbers as fast as they do cells.” 



SOMETHING ABOUT BATS. 


HOSE curious animals, the bats, have been 



- 1 - thought of as mysterious, and what the Scotch 
call “uncanny.” Two or three thousand years ago 
people began to connect them with unnatural things, 
and consecrated them to Proserpine, the wife of Pluto, 
the god of the Lower Regions. The old Israelites 
placed them among “ unclean animals,” and we find 
their images carved on the tombs of ancient Egypt. 
Having been given such a bad name they kept it; and 
ignorant persons yet do not believe them any better 
than they should be. The horrible dragon killed by 
St. George was borne up by bat-wings, and Satan is 
represented in old pictures as having the same supports 


4 s 




Something About Bats. 


49 


distinguishing his evil disposition and dark home from 

the light and joy of angels, who are 
pictured as sweeping through heaven 
on the white pinions of doves. You 
remember in that well-known scene 
in Shakespeare’s play of “ Macbeth” 

Bat’s Head, specie how the witches, circling round the 
a yctmomus nmutus. se ething cauldron in which they 

are preparing their wicked charm, put in 

“ Eye of newt, and toe of frog, 

Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,” 

with the “ fenny snake ” and other fearful and strange 
ingredients. 

It is only within a century or 
two that people began to rid their 
minds of these foolish fears and 
superstitions, and to examine 
whether owls and bats and other 
mysterious animals were really The Hoary Bat. species 

Lasiurus cinereus. 

in league with evil spirits as they 

had so long been believed to be. Of course it was 
soon found out that they were not only innocent and 
harmless, but of great use to man. 

At first, bats were considered birds because they 
could fly; but it was soon found that they were really 





5 ° 


Something About Bats. 


four-footed animals. So they were classed with the 
Mammalia, and given a place to themselves under the 
name of Cheiroptera — a word from the Greek, mean¬ 
ing wir'-handed. This name expresses the case pre¬ 
cisely ; their hands are wings, and they are the only 
mammals that can truly fly; for the flying lemures of 
Africa, the flying opossums of Australia, and the flying 
squirrels of our own land, can only make long leaps 
through the air, supported by their “parachute.” 

If you take a bat in your hand and examine it, you 
will see that its body is shaped something like that of 
a mouse ; and that its fur is very soft and silky; that 
it has a small head, sharp,cat-like teeth, large ears with 
prominent inner lobes; a pointed nose, perhaps 
adorned with leaf-like appendages standing upright at 
the end ; and small, piercing eyes. Its hind legs and 
short tail are much like those of mice. These feat¬ 
ures, and the size, vary, of course, with the different 
species. Some are not as large as canary birds, while 
others spread their wings five feet; some have noses 
so covered with protuberances as to mask the face ; 
the ears of many are immense, complicated banners, 
but in many others are small, pointed, and simple. 
But the main characteristic of all bats, and one in 
which they are all nearly alike, because in all it serves 
exactly the same purpose, is the broad membrane 


Something About Bats . 


5 1 


which stretches from their hands to their toes, and 
thence to the end of the tail. This membrane is like 
exceedingly thin and soft leather, may be split, and is 
so transparent that with a microscope you may see the 
globules of blood rolling along the veins which trav¬ 
erse the membrane to its farthest edge. 

How is it extended and folded up so neatly ? 

If you gently pull out the wing of the bat in your 
hand you may feel the bones, and you will easily find 
that the distance from the shoulder to the curious 
hook half way out upon the front edge of the wing, 
by which the bat often hangs himself up to a limb, is 
measured by two bones, joined in the middle. These 
bones are the humerus or arm-bone, and the ulna , or 
forearm, with its little radius alongside; the joint in 
the middle is the elbow, and the sharp hook, or claw 
is the thumb-nail. Right at this point are the bones 
of the wrist, and from it radiate to the outer edge of 
the membrane one short and three long slender bones, 
which are the bat’s fingers. The little fellow spreads 
his wing by holding out his arms and stretching apart 
his fingers; and folds them up close to his body, 
where the membrane wrinkles like the cloth of a 
folded umbrella. Very strong muscles are needed to 
operate these long and distant fingers, and when you 
dissect a bat you find that the bones of the chest are 


52 


Something About Bats. 


broad and thick, forming a foundation for all the 
larger muscles, which act as levers to raise and pul- 
down the wing. This, and all other parts of the bat’s 
body, show how beautifully its structure has been 
suited to its peculiar habits. 

The membrane of the wing is exquisitely sensitive. 
Nerves run to every part of it, and I do not know 
where else you would find any capable of receiving 
such delicate impressions. Bats seem to guide them¬ 
selves mainly by this fine sense of touch, for their 
home is in dark places, they roam chiefly at night, 
and their eyes are small. A naturalist in Europe, 
about 1793, named Spatlanzani, noticed that bats 
could fly with great certainty in a perfectly dark 
room, not striking against the walls, or against strings 
and branches hung from the ceiling. He covered 
their eyes with court-plaster, and stopped their ears 
with cotton, but they did it equally well. Then, to 
make quite sure, he put out their eyes, yet the poor 
blind animals flew just as safely as before, skilfully 
dodging all obstructions. By this and other experi¬ 
ments it was shown that all over the wing was a net¬ 
work of nerves so sensitive that they warned the bat 
of the nearness of objects by feeling a change in the 
air. 

The great length and size of the wing makes it 


Something About Bats. 


53 


awkward for the bat to walk, and on a perfectly 
smooth hard surface, like the marble top of a table, 
he finds it almost impossible to make any headway. 
His plan is to catch his hooked thumb in some pro¬ 
jection and drag himself along, then reach ahead, get 
a new hold, draw his body up to it, and so on. This 
is hard, slow work, and the little fellow makes a very 
grotesque appearance. He likes better to be flying, 
and so he climbs up backwards, “ hand over hand,” 
with his hind feet, to some high place in a dead tree, 
or over an old stone wall, and rests, hanging head 
downwards, where he can drop into the air and have 
room to spread his wings at an instant’s warning. 

As a Primary school-boy would say in beginning his 
“ comp’sish’n ” — there are many kinds of bats 1 
They inhabit all parts of the world, and in some 
countries are exceedingly numerous. They may be 
separated into two sorts — insect-eaters and fruit- 
eaters. 

To the first-class — the insect-eater — belong our 
common little friends whose nightly flitting in summer 
amuses us so much as we try to follow their ziz-zag 
course through the shadows. They are hard to tell 
from swallows sometimes; indeed, they seem to be 
on very good terms with the chimney-swifts and the 
nighthawks, dodging about in the same irregular 


54 


Something About Bats . 


fashion, and carrying on through the night the war 
upon the winged pests of the air which the birds 
leave off at the coming of darkness. Like the swal¬ 
lows, too, the bats enjoy the vicinity of water, skim¬ 
ming close to the glassy surface to snatch up the 
mosquitoes and gnats which hover over the pond, and 
occasionally touching the water to drink upon the 
wing. At such places, on calm summer evenings, the 
air often seems to swarm with bats, and their fine, 
piercing cries are showered down into our ears like 
so many needles. They feed largely on flies, the 
wings of which are adroitly sheared off before the 
body is eaten } but the moths which are abroad at 
twilight and in the night are also tasteful to them, 
and it is the following of the unsteady, winding flight 
of these moths which gives the bats their peculiar 

t 

motion. Bats think themselves in good luck, too, 
when they meet with one of those dense swarms of 
minute insects so frequently seen in summer, rising 
and falling in the level rays of the setting sun, and 
make quick work of snapping up the airy dancers and 
dissipating their mazy waltz. Bats fly with astonish¬ 
ing swiftness and for a great length of time ; and that 
they have the strength to travel very long distances is 
shown by the fact that the Madeiras, the Azores, and 
other mid-ocean islands have bats of their own, and 


Something About Bats. 


55 


that our common little brown bat visits the Bermudas 
every year, although these islands lie six hundred 
miles from Carolina, the nearest mainland. 

With the return of morning sunshine the bats all 
disappear in their hiding-places, hanging themselves 
up in chimneys, old walls, caves, hollow trees, under 
the eaves of old-fashioned buildings, and in all sorts 
of dark holes and crannies, sometimes huddling 
together in great numbers, — as many as ten thousand 
having been found inhabiting the garret of a single 
old house in Maryland. Here they remain, asleep, 
their leathery wings folded about them like cloaks, 
until the cry of the whip-poor-will the next evening 
calls them forth to new gambols. As the chill nights 
of autumn grow colder and colder, and the birds be¬ 
gin to leave us for warmer climates, the bats are no 
longer seen. They have retired to their holes and 
gone to sleep for the last time until next spring. 

“ What! do they sleep straight through the win¬ 
ter ? ” 

Yes ; unless they wake up for a day or two in the 
“ January thaw.” 

But it is something more than sleep — it is a condi¬ 
tion almost of death, called torpidity ; the bat is said 
to be hybernating. If you took one in your hand at 
this time he would shrink a little, but would not open 


56 


Something About Bats. 


his sleepy eyes, prick up his thin ears, nor try to un¬ 
fold his tightly wrapped wings. You would feel little 
warmth in his body, could not detect that his heart 
beat in the least, or that he breathed. If you did not 
arouse him by warmth, or a sudden shock, you might 
put him in a closed jar with pure air, and after an 
hour find that he had not corrupted the air in the 
least, as he certainly would have done had he 
breathed it; or you might put him in a tight box with 
deadly gases and they would not affect him. 

“ Poor little fellow ! ” you say. “ He is dead ! ” 

Not so fast. 

Take him again and hold him in your hand until 
the gentle warmth revives him — too great or sudden 
warmth might kill him — and, little by little his slug¬ 
gish blood will begin to circulate, life will come back 
to him, and soon he will be flying about the room as 
briskly as ever he did. Sometimes the weather be¬ 
comes so warm in winter (in the South they hardly 
need to hybernate at all), that the bats wake up for a 
day or two, but usually have to go back and take a 
nap of six weeks or so more before they can come 
out “ for good and all. ” Thus I have sometimes 
seen them flitting about the wharves in New York 
city in February. Occasionally bats that have been 
sleeping in a warm place will arouse themselves and 


Something About Bats . 


57 


go out of doors on a frosty night, when they are almost 
sure to perish before they get back to their snug 
resting-places. They are not remarkable reasoners. 

Considering their food and their love of warmth, it 
is not surprising to find that the tropical regions contain 
the greatest number of bats, and those of largest size. 
The monsters of the family are to be found in the dense, 
vine-laced forests along the Amazon, in the jungles of 
India, and in the cane-brakes of the East India islands, 

“ Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling.” 

Mr. Goldsmith drew a whole picture in that last line 
of the many different fruit-eating species of the East, 
and their haunts. They are all of much larger size 
than the insect-eaters of the temperate zones, and 
subsisting on the luscious fruits that grow so abund¬ 
antly in the tropics, cause great havoc among the 
plantations, robbing the fig-trees as fast as the fruit 
can ripen, and compelling the owners to protect their 
orchards by gfeat nets or by a lot of little cages of 
bamboo splints put about each cluster of fruit. Some 
of these bats can see as well during the brightness of 
noon-day as amid the shades of twilight ; but during 
the day the most of them withdraw to cliffs or caverns 
to sleep, or retire to gloomy forests and hang upon its 


58 


Something About Bats. 


trees in great colonies—many hundreds occupying 
the same tree, to which they regularly resort. Their 
favorite is the banyan tree — that giant of the woods 
which sends shoots downward from its branches which 
take root, until, in course of time, a single tree becomes 
a considerable grove. To the branching rafters of this 



Structure of Bat. 


great green roof they hang in rows like some curious 
brown fruit, each mantled in the cloak of his leathery 
wings, and sound asleep. When returning in the morn¬ 
ing from their midnight foraging, a scene of the great¬ 
est confusion occurs. Those who get to the tree first 
resist all the rest, striking at them with the hooks of 
their wings, and shrieking at the top of their voices. 
Each one must fight every morning for his place to 





Something About Bats . 


59 


hook on, and having got it, feels bound that all later 
comers shall have as hard a time as he had. 

These large bats, some of which measure six feet 
from tip to tip of the wings, do not confine themselves 
wholly to fruits, but sometimes chase small birds and 
quadrupeds, and frequently vary their bill of fare with 
insects ; on the other hand, some species are eaten by 
men, and said to taste like chicken. They were known 
to the most ancient writers, and the old fables of the 
Egyptians, Greeks, and Hindoos are full of stories 
about their marvellous qualities. It is supposed that 
those fabulous animals, the Harpies, owe their origin 
to the ridiculous notions believed of the terrible powers 
of the kalongs. They are called flying-foxes because 
of the reddish color of their fur, aud the foxy shape of 
their heads and faces. 

South America also has its large bats, of one of 
which everybody has heard — the vampire. Much 
nonsense has been written about it, but there was some 
foundation for the stories of its sucking the blood of 
men and animals until it killed them. In the interior of 
South America nearly everybody sleeps in a hammock 
either out-of-doors or with the windows open, and the 
weather is so warm that little covering is used. The 
vampire comes in on silent wings, and finding a toe 
exposed, gently pricks it with his sharp tooth, and 


6o 


Something About Bats. 


draws the blood until he can swallow no more. The 
sleeper rarely is awakened, and does not know his loss 
until morning. He may then feel weak from the flow 



Bat’s Fur. 


of blood, but I am not aware that a man was ever 
known to die from this cause. Horses are very great¬ 
ly troubled by them also. Mr. Charles Watterton, an 
enthusiastic naturalist now dead, who spent several 
years in New Guiana, has told us much about this ugly 
bat, but could never induce one to taste of his toe, al¬ 
though he would have been very glad to be able to say 





Something About Bats. 


61 


that he had been operated upon. For eleven months 
he slept alone in the loft of a deserted wood-cutter’s 
hut in the deep forest. There the vampires came 
and went as they wished. He saw them come in the 
moonlight on stealthy wings, and prick the ripe ba¬ 
nanas ; lay in his hammock and watched them bring 
almost to his bedside the green wild fruit of the wild 
guava; floating down the river on other moonlight 
nights was struck by the falling blossoms of the la- 
warri-nut tree which the vampires pulled from the 
branches to get at the tender seed-vessel, or the in¬ 
sects that lurk in the deep corolla. Fie lay night 
after night with his bare foot exposed, but could never 
get them to lance it, although his friends and compan¬ 
ions were all bled by this nocturnal surgeon; and ex¬ 
cept that he once caught one fastened to the shoulder 
of one of his animals, he came away no wiser than 
when he went of how the vampire does his horrid 
work. 

The vampires measure about twenty-six inches across^ 
the wings; frequent old houses and hollow trees, and, 
repose in clusters, head downwards, from the branches 
of forest trees. 

This is something about bats. They are very inter¬ 
esting little animals, and not at all supernatural, as you 
have found out. 


62 


Something About Bats . 


It will reward you well to study them closely at 
every opportunity; and you will find that you can 
keep them very well in confinement, feeding them in¬ 
sects and raw beef, with plenty of water, looking out 
that they do not escape by squeezing through some 
crevice where you thought it impossible. Gilbert White 
( whose “ Natural History of Selborne,” although al- 
almost one hundred years old, is one of the most de¬ 
lightful books in the English language ) had a tame 
bat which would take flies out of his hand. Having 
got it, the bat would bring its wings round in front of 
its head so as to hide its mouth, and, stripping off the 
wings would eat the fly, snapping his teeth at each 
bite like a hungry dog. 

One day an English gentleman caught a bat in the 
belfry of the cathedral at Bruges — “ that quaint old 
Flemish city,” and the very cathedral of which Long¬ 
fellow wrote his beautiful poem. He wrapped him up 
in his handkerchief, took him home to London with 
him, and built him a nice cage. “ Piggy ” — for that 
was the name he gave the bat — soon recovered his 
spirits, and ate eight meal-worms daily, besides several 
daddy-long-legs, of which he seemed fond, for he would 
smack his lips after each one. When Piggy seemed 
thirsty his master would give him water on the end of 
his finger; but if he gave him too much, Piggy would 


Something About Bats, 


6 3 


squeak like a mouse and try to bite. After a good 
meal, Piggy would purr louder than a cat in comparison 
to his size, and if stroked gently, would erect his ears 
and put first one and then the other up to be 
scratched. All his habits were cleanly, and his man¬ 
ners funny. 

But Piggy died after about five months, and so ends 
our bat story. 













































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